


Soundstages

by 17 pansies (17pansies)



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Cute boys, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17pansies/pseuds/17%20pansies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distractions come in all shapes and sizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soundstages

**Author's Note:**

> From a comment prompt by writer_klmeri on jim-and-bones.livejournal.com after being privy to [these](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/413056.html) lovely pictures. 
> 
> "I'm definitely thinking there needs to be a fic where Chris and Karl have movie sets right next to each other and Chris keeps wandering over to watch Karl in his vamp outfit. At Chris' abandoned set a director keeps yelling, "Pine? Where's Pine!? Crap. Somebody go fetch him from Priest again!" :)"
> 
> Short and fluffy.

He knows he’s just one soundstage away. He can feel it, every time that stupid makeup girl with the squishy triangle sponges leaps up to dab at his chin – just get lost, he growls in his head, too polite to actually say it – and he finds his eyes drawn to the door that leads out onto the lot behind, eight strides to Karl’s car, check right to see what kind of crazy fan girl is trying to pour herself through the double chain link and if he could only-

“Pine! You with me today?”

“Sorry Ed.” He drags up an easy smile, winks at the makeup girl who flushes and bustles off. 

“Last take of the day, you gonna do it in one?” The director sighs, waves at the various folks, swears at a few more and then it’s *action*, cue cute bedraggled dog and a small girl, about twelve but looks seven, really good, a pleasure to work with and Chris shoves the stray thoughts away and acts his heart out, dropping down onto one knee and holding his arms out to the child. Tears all round, he reckons, as Ed finally calls cut, and the child looks up at him, sniffs and then grins.

“You’re gonna be big,” he whispers to her and she giggles, wipes her eyes then pulls a face at the makeup that comes off on her sleeve. “Yeah, but you won’t ever escape the pancake.” The dog bounds over, getting in on the action now the cameras have stopped and Chris gives it a fuss too.

Then he realises, that was the final take. He was done. Ruffling the child’s hair, he leaps up, fishes the last couple of dog treats out of his jeans and throws them to the old sheepdog and heads towards the makeup girl. She blushes bright red, but hands him a damp flannel which he scrubs the worst of the slap off with. He was vain, yeah, but not vain enough to walk out there with this crap all over his face.

Out the door, to Karl’s car, round the front giving it a pat on the hood for some dumbass reason, slipping between a couple of camera dollies, avoiding the woman bearing a clipboard – no, he didn’t know her but he knew well enough that women carrying clipboards were trouble, just as Zach had discovered – and then he sneaks into the next soundstage. Winking at the security guy, who just grunts absently, Chris finds himself watching some fighting. 

Oh man. 

Karl, black hat, swirly coat, beating crap out of Paul – Jesus, look at him go. His breath catches as Karl almost slips, in spite of the cables he can see tethering him to the top of the train. He’s good, he thinks, damn good.

There are four takes, each one leaving him mesmerised at the choreography and directing. Who cared what the rest of the film was like, this was the scene he’d remember it for. Then, the final cut, class dismissed and Chris slopes nonchalantly over, sidles around the main body of grips and soundbooms and camera dollies and watches as Karl clambers down off the top of the train. He shares a joke with Paul, shouts something to someone up in the heavens who laughs then turns, heading towards where Chris is half concealed, the doorway to the proper dressing rooms. Yeah, Chris has one too, but today, jeans and a blue shirt, what was there to dress for? These clothes were so comfy, he’d probably steal them, wardrobe wouldn’t care. 

“Y’gonna stand in my way all day, kid?”

Jesus, that voice, hardwired to every damned nerve in his body. Glancing up, he shudders as the yellow eyes stare at him from an expressionless face.

“You want to try moving me?” he snipes, taking an unconscious step back as the Black Hat advances on him.

“I don’t have t’move you, darlin’, you’re gonna move your pretty ass of your own volition unless you want it handin’ to y’ on a plate.”

With a growl, he jumps forward and Chris stumbles back and starts laughing, a mad, infectious cackle that breaks through Karl’s serious expression and leaves both men leaning against the wall, gasping for breath.

“You’re such a dumb fuck,” Karl snorts, still chuckling. “Get out of my way so I can peel this shit off my face.” The Kiwi accent is back and Chris sighs, content. Trailing after Karl, he follows him into the dressing room and shuts the door behind him. Karl throws himself into the chair in front of the mirror and the hat sails off into a corner, landing just lopsided on the black plastic hat block that Karl is under strict instructions to use every time he removes the damned thing. Chris snickers to himself remembering one occasion when the hat never even made it off Karl’s head.

“You got that look in your eye again,” Karl says, snapping Chris out of his reverie. Those yellow contacts were out, floating innocently in tiny saucers of fluid and then the lids are screwed on and Chris watches as Karl scrubs the pale makeup off his tanned skin. 

“What look would that be?” Chris moves up behind Karl, hands sliding onto broad shoulders and he feels the tension going out of the muscles beneath his fingers, Karl’s head tipping back to rest against the younger man’s abs.

“The look that says, when I tell you I need a shower, you’re going to offer to scrub my back.”

“Oh hell, yes.” Chris bends down, catches those full lips with his own and has to bite back a groan as Karl makes that little noise in the back of his throat, not quite a whimper as Karl would never whimper, but the noise that goes straight to Chris’s rapidly thickening erection and now Karl’s hand is on the back of Chris’s head and it’s the younger man who’s making the helpless noises. “Where?”

“Your apartment,” Karl murmurs. “You have the best shower.” He’s tasting Chris now, taking little nipping kisses and dancing the tips of their tongues together. “And you've got the biggest bed.”


End file.
